In Thought
by danceshoes88
Summary: Finnick is dead, but soon finds he possesses a capability that will either strengthen his acceptance and tolerance of his new state, or completely tear him apart. Is their a way he can still live, just from a spectator's point-of-view? Post-Mockingjay. All rights go to Suzanne Collins
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

 _"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." ~J.K. Rowling_

There was a tug. Barely even prominent. Not like the ferocious jerking motion from the mutts in the Capitol. No, not like that at all. This one was different, pulling my body as if a rope had been tied around my waist and slightly yanking force was applied to the other end. Oddly enough though, it wasn't painful. In fact, I felt absolutely nothing, but as with many things, that fact didn't last long enough.

The scene around me shifted, and I was no longer held captive in the blank environment of the dead. They say when you die that there is a light, or perhaps some sort of slap of realization. However, I am here to tell you that none of that is true. Not even in the slightest bit. There is no revelation, no bright fluorescent glow, when you die there is just simply nothing except for a cold sort of emptiness that seems to gnaw at what's left of your being, a feeling in which you learn quite quickly to become accustomed to.

But at this particular moment, all that seemed to change.

It began to come back in parts – miniscule increments that would gradually appear, each one building onto the other. The first was color. Various sorts of grays and blues, all sorrowful and longing. Together they morphed, generating an astonishingly beautiful image of hope and loss, two things I was very much familiar with at the time.

Next, was sound. White noise that seemed to be utterly cacophonous and blaring dominated my ears in a sort of screech, shocking my body into a fervid state of terror. My hands rapidly flew to my head in a desperate attempt to halt the deafening audio, but its effect was inescapable. It may not have been so absolutely egregious in the past, in fact it is something that would have gone unnoticed, considered only to be a normal, daily aspect of life. But, if life is taken out of that equation, then it is a whole other situation entirely. Ever since my time ended, my body hadn't known any entity other than silence. When that state happens to change, it is particularly impactful. However, that was not the most haunting side effect. That spot was reserved solely for the voices.

I can tell you now that sound and speech are two very diverse concepts. One can harm you, but the other can completely tear you apart, leaving little to no sanity left for you to grasp. The words, the people in whom they belong to, all swirl maliciously inside your mind, suffocating your brain with noxious fumes of recollections and wistful thinking. Even though you are aware of your position, the abilities and capabilities you lack, you still possess a puissant desire to try and fight death, continuing to reach for that anchor that will bring you back to the living you care about. That feeling, that urge of persistence and perseverance that dwells despite reality, the power of determination only increasing when loved ones are involved, is what eradicates all hope in the end. Though, no matter how frequently I remind myself of the inevitable fate, I still managed to fall prey to the sweet, enticing voice.

But on this specific occasion, it was different.

Instead of dissipating into my faint bubble of desperation, this time the speech stayed, racking the inside of my skull like a throbbing headache, morphing into a distant ringing present inside my ears. I felt my hands slap against the side of my raw cheek, the violent cupping sound not even able to drown out her voice. _How? What?_ Questions racked my brain swirling in with the sweet laughter and cries that eventually formed words, which then became complete comprehensible sentences. At that point, the torture only continued. I began to decipher certain oral fragments of my life, memories that were never to be forgotten but somehow, after the underground attack in the Capitol, managed to be pushed carelessly to the back of my mind. Whispered secrets under our breath on the shores of the evening sea, pointless jokes that many others would fail to understand but consisted greatly of my childhood days, helpless sobs and pleas that existed between us after my Games, the babble and seemingly meaningless speech after hers, and most of all the miniscule yet meaningful phrases spoken into each others ears as we roamed the dark and militaristic halls of District Thirteen, were all featured.

Almost instinctively my eyelids dropped in attempt to shut everything out, the noise suddenly becoming too much to bear. But the audio was intrepid and desired to make itself known no matter the pain it could be causing. Is this what it is like? To be caught in the whirlwind of your own insane mind? To be tormented by the past that you adore, but aren't in any way able to visit once more? Is this how she felt, as the vivid images of the arena dominated her thoughts?

My eyebrows furrowed further, clenching my eyes shut with an unknown vehement strength, as fresh tears welled, enforcing the acknowledgment of their existence through a stinging, salty burn with a gradual development. If it was even possible, my brain began to focus on and perceive more specific sounds that were not as significant before. Rapid footsteps and zealous cries rang through the dank air, as another nameless face announced an arrival. Other voices joined the mix, but most were too vague to be recognized. I still refused to open my eyes. The joy and complacency that my body happened to sense was incongruous and utterly unwanted. I didn't need this. It only made things worse. Was there anyway it could possibly leave or vanish? I don't know, I still don't. However, it was one particular phrase that enforced me to do the complete antithetic of my former state.

 _"Finnick!"_

There was another voice, but my complete attention was directed upon the scene my eyes deciphered as soon as they were deemed the freedom that allowed me too possess sight. A stark wave of nausea washed over me, and discomfort swiftly replaced any previous feeling that existed within my being. The tears that that had only moments ago been contained by willpower now carved shimmering rivers into the blood-stained filth upon my cheeks. I don't recall falling, but only a sharp pain shooting up my knees as my body heaved forward, numb with passion and saturated with confusion. Before me, a thin framed girl clad in simple gray threads began bounding through a maze of dark, underground hallways as her unruly chestnut- hued tresses flailed behind her in a flash of curly strands. She ran wildly, navigating through passing citizens with a skill that could only be fueled by pure hope and desire, and somehow, I knew. She was chasing after a person who wouldn't return.

The sickening feeling worsened, as my stomach writhed and churned with a sort of vengeful intention. Despite all, bafflement and vulnerability alike, the pitiful words still managed to slip from my lips.

 _"Oh, Annie."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter One_

" _Grief is like the ocean, it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." ~Vicki Harrison_

"Johanna! They're back! _Finn's_ back!" Her fragile hands ecstatically grasp Johanna's calloused fingers before she continues to dash through the random arrange of stoic, stale-faced District Thirteen pedestrians. Johanna, despite having been left alone for seconds slightly recoils at the action and only continues to follow in suit with an almost dramatic decrease in enthusiasm.

I attempt at comprehension by examining the scene, searching for other familiar figures who might reveal the situation at hand. But all I see are the two. My line of vision is limited, only following the actions of Annie, and lacking the ability to branch out to other locations and minds. _Where's Katniss? Peeta?_ People fly by me like passing country scenery on a Capitol train, nameless figures that are in no way familiar.

Eventually Annie arrives in the docking station on one of the lower levels of the underground district. A stark sense of cruel nostalgia pangs in my chest as I begin to realize just exactly what her motives are. A large aircraft, almost identical to the one that brought Squad 451 and its varying members to the partially rebel infested Capitol, sits perched upon the concrete slab of a station as President Coin and other significant figures alike gather around the dying engine. Its back doors descend, permitting the exit of a few high-ranked officials of the rebel army and some surviving members of my old "Star Squad".

It is in this moment that all hope collapses.

Forcing her way through the gradually collecting crowd, Annie wears an expression of pure joy as she approaches the craft, her demeanor absolutely opposite of my own. "Annie!" I screech, her name ripping through the air instinctively. " _Annie!_ " My body, once desperate to see her again, grows exceedingly voracious as it craves to hear the sound of her voice in response to mine. Perhaps a simple reaction acknowledging my summoning. Just one more time before I am forced to forget the feeling forever. Because after all, that must be what this is–some kind of dream. Or, maybe I finally reached my supreme destination. A hell in where I am forced to witness the pain my loved ones are going through and the suffering I have caused them. Only to sit in silence, lacking any ability to respond to the images that play out before me.

I can't bear to watch my wife as she examines each exiting passenger with a dwindling sense of zeal as the amount of people thins and none of them are the particular person in whom she is looking for. However, despite the fact, I find my eyes upon the depiction nonetheless. At this point Johanna has managed to catch up with her, acknowledging the situation far quicker than Annie does. She still stands there, almost glaring at the empty hovercraft. Johanna, even though aware of her instability attempts at placing a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, only for it to be abruptly shrugged off.

"Peeta!" Annie calls, racing towards the war-torn baker's son. Their eyes meet temporarily, all-knowing cerulean orbs weighed down by past experiences clashing with desperate and frantic green ones.

He tries for a smile, which is uncharacteristic of him given the circumstances. "Hey Annie."

She doesn't smile back.

"Where's Finnick?"

I feel bile rise in my throat, a seemingly impossible task for a dead man. _Why? Haven't I suffered enough?_ I know the thought is harsh, selfish even, but my mind can't help but allow it to emerge. Instinctively, my hands find my face, my fingertips roughly caressing the various contours of my visage as a sort of distraction as my stomach tightens with an unnerving dread blatantly shared with my significant other. I want to close my eyes, annihilating the picture of loss before me. I want to slam my sore palms over my ears like she used to do, muffling every word that comes out of their mouths. But most of all I want to listen and watch, curiosity now my worst enemy, as she continues to speak and move with devastating beauty.

Peeta chooses not to respond. "Where's Finnick, Peeta?" she repeats insistently. Still silence. "Whatever it is, I can take it! I just want to know! Is he injured? Did he have to stay behind for some reason? It's okay, I can take it, I swear!" Knowing tears begin to well up in her eyes and mine, too, grow watery, as she is no longer the tiny feeble girl who only happened to survive the Games due to chance's cruel dice. She is Annie Odair, a strong woman of experience and bravery, a side of her that remained hidden to anyone except those close, now for the world to see. _My sweet Annie,_ I want to cry, _you have come so far._

Though he eventually cracks. "Annie," Peeta's expression becomes doleful, as if just having witnessed the effects of war for the first time. "Annie, Finnick's not coming back, he...he died while helping us to safety." He pauses, unsure of exactly what to expect.

But she holds herself to her word, surprising even myself. "How? How did he, um, die?" Her small voice, slightly squeaks on the last word. "Did Snow kill him?" There is a vengeful aspect of her tone this time, and I guess as a result of this new experience, I am able to detect the rage that undoubtedly emanates from her body in vicious waves.

Peeta shakes his head, damp blonde curls limply swaying with the motion. "No. He died an honest soldier, doing what he was asked to and more. You should be proud." Peeta's words sound awkward, rolling off his tongue in an unfamiliar fashion. But who can blame someone who has only received a myriad of death notices, and never himself had one to give? Until now, of course.

Annie is quiet, her gaze focused at the floor, as her brain churns with a multitude of jumbled, confusing thoughts. It's a personal display I have witnessed on a surfeit of occasions, a series of hints that result in solitude and long hours of convincing regarding safety, and protection, and the stark fact that everything is okay now. There is no more Games. There is no more death. Everything is fine. _Look at me Annie, I promise, it will be alright._

But this time there isn't anyone. To hold her. To whisper reassuring truths into her ears when past truths have become lies. To coax her back from the noxious world she traps herself in, and keep her grounded in reality as its ghosts begin to test her sanity.

"Thank you, Peeta." she mumbles, her head raised to look him in the eye. She knows she can't breakdown, not here, not in front of everyone. Instead, Annie gradually rotates on her heel, a determined and forlorn frown stamped upon her lips, before approaching Johanna, who, for once in her life, appears sympathetic and sorrowful towards the struggles of someone other than herself. She extends her arms and the two embrace, an action that would shock any person who knew Johanna even the slightest bit. Liquid lead begins to pump through my veins, weighing down my heart with the guilt of my life's expense, and only one thought comes to mind, _Take care of her, Johanna Mason, whatever you do, take care of her._


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: This chapter contains darker themes.**

 _Chapter Two_

" _Grief does not change you. It reveals you." ~John Green_

It seemed as though years had passed until I was able to see them again. If it was possible, the time between my first and second visit appeared longer than the length of time between my death and the discovery of this new skill that I apparently possess. Whether it is a blessing or burden, is something that has yet to be decided…

I am abruptly torn from my thoughts as yet another image begins to play out before me. _When will it stop?_ I plea, partially agreeing with the intentions of the subconscious question whilst partially wishing that these unlived memories would in fact never end. It would be nice, to have something that you can always count on despite dwelling in a world of nothing.

The scenery is different this time, taking place in one of the hospital rooms in the infirmary wing of District Thirteen. The white walls and floor are blinding as panic begins to bubble up in my chest. _Is something wrong?_ Seeing Annie after her rescue from the Capitol and all that she had endured both physically and mentally while imprisoned there was crushing enough. But at least I was able to help then. Now...there was absolutely nothing I could do, and even though I have already claimed the status, the thought kills me. However, instead of worry, confusion rapidly dominates my emotions.

"No – _Annie!_ " Johanna grunts while forcefully grasping Annie's wrist, causing a small silver object to fall unceremoniously from her hand and hit the floor with a weak clang. Annie struggles to free herself and after a moment is successful, but not before Johanna has retrieved whatever it was Annie had previously possessed. She scowls while methodically turning the thing over in her hand, only to halfheartedly toss is over her shoulder. "A scalpel? Really?" Dread starts to expand in my chest, making it harder for me to breathe, or at least trick my body into thinking it is able to breathe. Would she really...? I didn't want to see this. I knew that from the very beginning. I thought that maybe I had evaded it earlier, but evidently fate is not so merciful. I attempt at shutting my eyes, but the action is almost impossible, as if my mind were helplessly addicted to these moments that I encounter. "God, who would even leave that in the same room as you?" Johanna mutters under her breath and I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything even though completely aware that she wouldn't be able to hear anyway.

Annie chooses to ignore the comment. "Why won't you just let me die?" she asks pleadingly. "There isn't anything left for me here!"

This time, I let my words through. "No. Annie, stop! You have a whole life ahead of you! You can't..." My demand is useless, but there is something relieving about verbalizing your thoughts, even when there is no one to listen. "You –" The sentence gets stuck in my throat, forced back down by a sob. Warm tears carve little glistening trails of moisture into my cheeks, no doubt washing away part of the blood, dirt, and grime that covered my face at the time of my demise.

Johanna for a second time surprises me as I decipher a look of sympathy spread upon her face. However she still comes off as abrasive when she speaks. "Stop it Annie! This isn't about you!"

This catches her attention. Annie narrows her eyes dangerously, verdant orbs threatening and fierce. "Don't you _dare_ bring Finn into this!" Each syllable of her sentence is dripping with venom.

Johanna, irritated, rolls her eyes melodramatically. "I'm not talking about Finnick." she sighs.

"But whatever. Fine. Go ahead. Kill yourself _and_ his baby. See if I care." She then rises and rapidly turns on her heel, headed for the door leaving a shell shocked Annie in her wake.

"Wait!" I wordlessly watch as she swiftly reaches to grab Johanna's wrist, a successful gesture despite being perched on the floor. "What do you mean?" she whispers, her voice slightly wavering.

Johanna sighs deeply before approaching her, almost like she regretted sharing the information she just previously mentioned. She squats down to Annie's level, her face expressionless except for a minor, sorrowful ghost of a look that is hardly detectable. "You're pregnant."

My body grows numb, shocked into a reality far crueler than death. Could she...really?

" _What?_ " Annie's hand falls limply to the floor, as her bright green eyes widen at Johanna in disbelief. "I-"

But Johanna interrupts already aware of her future words. "You are."

"How-"

"Do I know? Because Mrs. Everdeen told me. She figured it would be easier for you to understand if I was the one to give you the news." Johanna scoffs. "I really don't think it would have mattered, considering your reaction. And besides, you would have figured it out sooner or later given the changes in nutrition portions. Heck, I only _wish_ I could get as much food as you."

Annie no longer pays attention to Johanna's elaboration. Instead she tangles her fingers in her hair and absentmindedly tugs at the end of a few strands, her eyes barely focused on the white tile of the ground, her visage void of any remnants of emotion.

My heart sinks deep into my chest.

I know that look.

"I-I have to go." she stutters before jumping up from the floor and dashing out the door.

Johanna simply stands there for a moment, Annie having already reached the end of the hall as her brain finally registers what was said. "Annie! Annie get back here!" Her demand captivates the attention of all the hospital personnel nearby. Their heads whip in her direction momentarily, only to return back to their previous position upon acknowledging that it is just another victor. _Just another victor._ As if the title explains everything.

The image follows Annie instead of Johanna. My wife, with her wild dark sienna-hued hair sprawled out behind her, races through the narrow tunnels and passages of District Thirteen, skillfully dodging the innocent pedestrians that happen to be in her way. She doesn't stop once. At least, not until she reaches the door of our old quarters, or rather, _my_ old quarters. Her hands fumble with the knob and then the latch as soon as the door is shut, locking her from the outside world. She crawls into the corner of our bed and pulls her knees to her chest, a position that often dominated our moments together.

Seconds later cacophonous pounding fills the air. "Annie? _Annie!_ I know you're in there!" The knocking abruptly stops, replaced by a curt string of profanities and then silence. Eventually, she speaks. "Listen, Annie, please don't do this to yourself." Johanna's softened voice is muffled further by the thick material of the door. "I know you don't want me to speak of him, but think of Finnick," Annie's once shut eyes fly open at the sound of my name. Her viridescent irises pierce the shadows of the bedroom. "Think of how happy he would be." Johanna seems to choke on that last sentence, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

But as usual, Annie remains wordless. It isn't until departing footsteps are heard that she allows herself a reaction. Quiet tears roll down her cheeks glistening in the faint light. I watch as her breathing quickens and her face contorts into an expression of sheer torment and distress. Her hands fly to her ears, pressing down into her skull so forcefully the fingertips turn white.

There were always the good days, and the bad ones. The days where she was "all there" and Annie was liberated from the horrors of her mind, not one part of her succumbing to its atrocities. She would wander outside of our quarters fearlessly and easily start conversations with those who were near to her as if this were a daily routine that she had done for years. It was nice, though temporary. Eventually, even after a successful streak, I would find her stuck in bed, refusing to leave, an exhausted look present in her eyes. Sometimes there were screams and I often had to remain in the close vicinity for frequently the screams were of my name. On those days, she remained in solitude, responding only to myself, if anyone.

"No," she whispers, still frozen in the previous position. "Stop, _stop_." Her eyes shut even tighter at the one word command. She slowly uncoils her body, sprawling out across the bed before moving to crawl under the sheets. Annie lies there for a few moments, her deep breaths blending in with the faint buzz of District Thirteen's large generators. Her arm lowers as she places a tentative hand upon her lower abdomen where our child lies.

 _Our child._

The thought is like a jagged knife that embeds itself into my chest and begins to slice downward, cutting my body apart with the blunt reality of its existence. I have a child. We have a child. Never in my life have I felt like such a failure. Never in my life has something so beautiful, and utterly wonderful brought on so many negative emotions. I left them. Alone. Without a husband, without a father. I- " _Stop_." I utter under my breath, repeating her previously spoken phrase. "You didn't have a choice. Death isn't something you can help." It is in this moment that, if accompanying me currently, one of my friends would have reassured me that I was one significant falling domino that ultimately led to the ability of the the Star Squad's return, and Annie along with most of the country being able to live as they please without any pressures from the Capitol. However, I beg to differ. Then again, my friends aren't here, and there is a reason for that, I suppose.

"You can do this, Annie. You can do this for him. For both of them." She exhales, allowing her a minute of respite. "'Only you can stop this, Annie. Just focus on something else. Remember, five, four, three, two, one.'"

My teeth instinctively sink into my bottom lip as my vision begins to blur at the sight of her recalling words I on many occasions used to console her. It never really seemed as though she were listening then, and isn't until now that I realize the opposite to have been true.

Annie darts her eyes toward the door of our room. " A door." she states blandly. Next they wander to the nightstand, where a lamp sits bathed in darkness. "The lamp." And onto another item, "The rug." And another, until she has listed five things inside our quarters. She brushes her fingers over the thin gray comforter of our bed. "Gray bedding." she mutters. They then extend toward the hem of her sleeve. "A shirt." She fingers the middle of the garment, "Buttons." And finally they linger over her stomach, shaking slightly. Annie winces and her breath hitches. "A baby."

She pauses. I internally sink at what is to come, but once again Annie surprises me, stepping away from the edge of the cliff that I thought she would inevitably fall from. Instead she inhales and exhales deeply, as if all of her negative thoughts were released from her in that last action.

And just like that, we have moved onto sounds. "A generator...my breath...footsteps."

And then scents. "Stale underground," Annie scoots over to the side of the bed in where I used to sleep. She buries her face into my old pillow. "Finnick." There is a hint of a waver in her voice but not once does it prevent her from continuing.

Last, is taste. Annie's eyebrows furrow at the sense that lacks presence in her current situation. "My spit? " she questions in a voice that is so utterly and completely normal. She stops for a second, before breaking out into an almost beatific fit of laughter. The freckles sprinkled across her face scrunch up as she grins. Annie just sits there, giggling and smiling like a child, so much so that if a stranger happened to stop by, they would dismiss her as insane. But most strangers did nonetheless.

Eventually her laughing comes to a conclusion, fading until entirely replaced by the humming of District Thirteen, making it seem as though it had never really occurred in the first place. She decides to turn her attention to the source of this ordeal, pushing the hem of her shirt slightly upward and placing her palm upon the bare skin that it reveals. "Hi." she whispers and it takes me a minute to realize who precisely she is talking to. "I once heard speaking to you would make it better," Annie closes her eyes, willing herself to continue. "But, I'm usually not one for speaking. I think...I think I will try for you though." She begins to move her hand, using her finger to thoughtlessly trace small circles upon the surface of her abdomen like Peeta did with the girl morphling tribute in the Quarter Quell just before she passed away. "I'm sorry in advance. I'm not fit to be your mom, I'm sorry you're stuck with me."

I've cried too much. I can no longer summon tears. And it is one of the worst feelings in the world.

"Your father though, he would have loved you so much." She swallows violently. "He would have been so excited."

I hate the way she uses my name in past tense. 'Loved'. 'Been'. 'Would have', 'would have', ' _would have_ '. Her and Johanna. Her and everyone. Probably. _But I do_ love _our child! I_ am _excited! Annie, if only you knew! I can see you! I can hear you!_ I want to scream, shout it to the world until my throat burns. But I can't, there is no more world. Just this. Just looking on from an impersonal point of view.

"He was, is, wonderful." she says, as if understanding my internal plea. But it is a practice she cannot keep up with. "He was brave, and helped save many people, but those are stories for when you are older." Annie turns her head towards my old pillow once more. Her hand flattens against her stomach, as the other reaches to brush where I used to lay. "I miss him a lot." she mutters.

"I miss you too." I murmur, unable to keep myself silent once again. I bury my face into my hands, wishing that I didn't have to be here and didn't have to see this.

But by doing this I miss the surprise etched onto Annie's expression, the concern and warning that blossom in her eyes. "Who said that?" she exacts, jerking herself up off the bed.

I slowly lift my head from its previous position, my brain absolutely baffled. " _Annie?_ "

"Who's there?"

My eyes widen, and the image begins to grow blurry as if looking through water.

"Who is there!" the call comes again, this time distant and muted like cotton were in my ears. It reverberates through the air, echoing until the image disappears entirely, darkening to the promising, recurring black that surrounds me.

 _What?_


End file.
